


Warm in December

by notlucy



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, Christmas Tree, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, First Christmas, Innuendo, Making Out, Married Couple, Married Life, Memories, POV Peggy Carter, Peggy Carter Lives, Reminiscing, Secret Santa, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 17:08:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13194684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy
Summary: A radiator and a red dress. Moments in a marriage, December 1946.





	Warm in December

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marvelsamwilson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvelsamwilson/gifts).



> This is my Steggy Secret Santa gift for [marvelsamwilson](https://marvelsamwilson.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. Hope you enjoy!

December had not gotten off to an auspicious start. The first of the month dawned bright and cold, a Sunday, which meant no alarm clocks, no work, and the pleasant possibility of spending the entire morning in bed with her husband, lazy as they liked. Coffee and conversation. Peggy woke up slowly, warm and comfortable thanks to the human furnace at her side. Steve had fallen asleep with an arm wrapped around her but had turned away in the night, as he often did, his restlessness something she was still adapting to. She had a notion of surprising him with a cup of coffee and some toast - breakfast in bed on a government salary. But as she pushed back the covers, the frigid air of the flat hit her, and she shivered. It was _cold_ , and not the standard just-out-of-bed horridness of an average winter morning. Frowning, she stood up, sliding her feet into her slippers and padding across their small bedroom to touch the radiator.

Freezing. Damn.

“Steve,” she said, hating to rouse him. He made a noise, though he wasn’t quite awake, grabbing for the covers and pulling them over his head. Typical. She went back to the bed, touching his shoulder through the quilt and repeating herself. “Steve.”

A rather melodramatic sigh as he rolled onto his back, pulling the covers down and cracking one blue eye open. He really didn’t do well with mornings. “What?”

“Radiator’s out,” she said. “You’ll need to let the super know.”

“It’s _Sunday_ ,” he said, as though that meant something.

“Yes, it is,” she agreed. “All the same, it’s cold.”

“Why don’t you go tell him?”

Steve was not at his most endearing when he woke up - crabby, surly, and quite funny, if she were truthful, though she couldn’t let him know that.

“Because I don’t want to,” she said. “He’s rude and condescending, and I put up with enough of that at the office. Get up and put some clothes on.”

For all his grumpiness, Steve was biddable enough when the request was reasonable. He returned from the super’s flat fifteen minutes later, Peggy having retired to the warmth of their bed in the interim.

“Furnace is out,” Steve said, shutting the bedroom door behind him. “Says he can’t get it looked at until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“You’re joking.”

“Wish I were.”

“This bloody building.”

Peggy didn’t blame the building, not really. It was all they’d been able to afford, as their combined salaries were less than what Howard Stark might find between his couch cushions on a Tuesday. Steve made two and a half times her pay, and that still wasn’t much. Captain America or not, the war was over, but his duty to the SSR remained.

She knew he didn’t like the work. Did it anyway, because he felt he owed something to the world and the people in it for the gift he’d been given. She did love him terribly, her Steve.

Her Steve, who was currently saying something about breakfast that she’d daydreamed right through.

“Mmm, what’s that?” she said.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Coming right up.”

In the end, he was the one who brought her breakfast in bed, upending her original plans. They ate together bundled up in blankets, Peggy having donned one of Steve’s sweaters and a pair of his thick socks over her nightgown. The choice of clothing didn’t appear to diminish his interest - as they finished their toast, he glanced over with a raised eyebrow, shrugging.

She smiled back.

There were worse ways to stay warm.

 

* * *

 

The second week of the month felt much more promising. The boiler was fixed, and a package arrived from England containing an assortment of wrapped boxes carefully labeled for both Peggy and Steve, along with cards and letters from her family. Despite her occasionally strained relationship with her mother, it was a nice reminder that they were there, that they loved her, that they missed her and were thinking of her through the season. And it reinforced that they were Steve’s family now, too, though she knew he didn’t quite believe it. They’d lost a son in Michael, and while Steve could never take his place, there was room there for him, if he’d let them in.

Regardless of the promising start, the week had an inevitable conclusion: Howard Stark’s annual holiday party. Neither Peggy nor Steve were looking forward to it, though they both felt enough of an obligation to Howard that they knew they really ought to go. So they took the train into the city, Steve helping Peggy out of her coat once they’d arrived. Her dress was several years out of fashion, one she’d had for ages and had altered to try and make it a bit more stylish. It hadn’t been her best work, but with a plunging neckline and a tight fit that showed off the curve of her backside, she didn’t suppose anyone would care.

Howard, ever the flirt, let out a low whistle when he saw her. Peggy felt Steve stiffen, and she ought to feel peevish rather than thrilled at his possessiveness. But they were who they were: terribly jealous creatures who didn’t share their toys. She didn’t miss the way his hand moved up to span her lower back. Staking his claim. Boorish - she would have done the same damn thing had their positions been reversed.

“Drink, darling?” she asked, once they’d made small talk with Howard and watched him go, chasing after the nearest pretty blonde.

“You know it doesn’t do a thing for me,” he said.

“I wasn’t offering to get _you_ one,” she teased. Steve rolled his eyes good-naturedly, steering her towards the bar, where Howard (of course) had a professional bartender serving the drinks. Steve ordered a dry martini "for the lady," leaning against the bar and looking at her in that terrible, wonderful way of his. The way his eyes roved over her body that made her feel as though her clothes had fallen right off and she was standing there in the altogether.

“Steve,” she chided, fighting to keep the smile off her face.

“I remember that dress,” he said, a sly smile crossing his features. “You’ve always looked good in red.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d recognize it,” she admitted, taking her drink when it was offered. “It’s been a long time, and I’ve altered it.”

Steve shrugged, leaning in to steal a kiss and pulling back with the faintest hint of a blush coloring his cheeks, charming to the very end. “Fella doesn’t forget a dress like that, Pegs.”

“Indeed.”

Two hours later, excuses made and taxis called, Steve’s hand was pushed right up under that red dress, high on her thigh as he laid a line of kisses down her throat. They couldn’t really afford the cab, but in the interest of getting home quickly, she’d make the necessary sacrifices. Beans on toast for a week seemed reasonable when she was that tipsy, and Steve was making her feel so good.

They barely made it in the door of their flat, Steve pushing her right up against it to kiss her, deep and hungry. Peggy gave as good as she got, tangling a hand in his hair. Unable to help himself, he gripped her arse firmly and hoisted her up, her legs wrapping right around his waist.

“Bed?” she asked, breathless.

“No,” he panted, just as she heard her stockings rip. “Here.”

Their walls were thin. She’d have to apologize to the neighbors.

 

* * *

 

“It won’t fit. It’s too big.”

“Ah, c’mon, it’s fine!”

“Darling, it  _won’t_.” Peggy took a step back from the tree Steve had decided was of an appropriate size for their tiny living room, shaking her head. “You’re seeing it in the lot - you’re not getting the proper scope.”

He frowned, that stubborn little crease in his forehead revealing itself as she braced herself for his defense. In the end, she gave in, because it was the third week of December and Steve just seemed so damned excited about the tree.

The men at the lot bound the tree up with twine, offering delivery for a reasonable fee. Steve, ever the pinchpenny, insisted on carrying it himself like a pack mule the three blocks back to their flat. Then up the four flights of stairs. Then down the hall and through the front door.

“See?” he said, clearly proud of himself as he stood the tree on its end, the top branches coming just a few inches below the ceiling. “Fits.”

“That remains to be seen,” she said primly. “The twine’s still on.”

Steve scoffed at her skepticism. Peggy bided her time. She crouched down to place the small stand they’d purchased to hold the tree, then stepped back to let Steve situate it where he liked. After a few moments of fretting, he seemed content with the placement. “I’ll get the scissors.”

The tree revealed its true girth once the twine had been cut, branches splaying out dramatically into their tiny space. The tree draped itself across the small coffee table, Steve’s armchair, and very nearly knocked their radio off its stand.

“Hmm.” Peggy refused to say she’d told him so.

“Huh.” Steve managed. “Big tree.”

“Rather.”

“Think I should trim some of the branches back?”

“If you like.”

Twenty minutes later the living room was a carpet of pine needles, and the tree was decidedly lopsided. An artist he may have been, an arborist he was not.

“How’s that?” he asked, grin on his face, pleased as punch. She loved that grin, all guilelessness and charm. It made her wish she’d known him as a little boy.

She stepped closer, reaching for his hand and pulling him down for a light kiss. “Perfect.”

 

* * *

 

Christmas morning brought with it the smell of sausage and eggs, Steve standing in the doorway of their bedroom and clearing his throat to wake her.

“Mmm,” she smiled, rolling onto her side and curling up with the duvet, peeking over the top and drinking him in. “Happy Christmas.”

“Happy uh, Christmas,” he said, the phrase not quite natural in his accent. “I got breakfast started. You looked cozy, figured I’d let you sleep.”

“Aren’t you a darling?”

“On occasion.” He crossed the room in two big steps, kissing her forehead lightly. “Come on out when you’re ready.”

It didn’t take her long to dress, pulling on a maroon quilted robe and matching slippers before walking out to the living room. Steve had breakfast laid out, and it smelled divine - he must have made a real effort, which was especially impressive considering that neither of them was what one might call an accomplished cook.

“I didn’t burn the toast,” he said proudly, putting a slice down in front of her.

“You’re a marvel.” She smiled at him across the table, enjoying the way his cheeks went the slightest bit pink at the praise. She’d never been given to excessive sentiment, but there was something wonderful about being tucked up in their little flat, warm and cozy, spending their first Christmas together as husband and wife. She wanted to tuck that morning away, preserve it in amber as a perfect memory to call upon when times were tough, and she needed something lovely and good to remind her of what was important.

They ate quickly, mainly because Steve kept casting impatient glances at the tree, underneath which lay their modest pile of gifts. Peggy didn’t make him wait too long, though she did take the time to enjoy every last drop of her tea. Standing up, she moved to clear the dishes. Fair was fair - he had cooked. “I’ll wash up.”

“Aw…” Steve muttered before he could help himself. Peggy couldn’t suppress her smile.

“Something the matter?”

“Just…” he shrugged. “Presents first?”

How could she resist? The dishes were abandoned as she followed him over to the tree and they knelt down to see what there was to see. A rather hideous jumper for each of them from Peggy’s family, courtesy of her Auntie Miriam - a prolific knitter if not a proficient one.

“Gee,” Steve said, politely, as he held the jumper up to himself. “That’s nice of your aunt.”

“Oh yes,” Peggy agreed. “I’ve amassed quite the collection over the years. Most of them sitting in my mother’s attic.”

“Too bad we don’t have an attic.”

There were gifts from several of the Commandos, from Howard, from Colonel Phillips. Steve had a small package from George and Winifred Barnes, hands shaking as he opened it, finding a book and a card inside. Peggy stayed close, rubbing his back as his fingers brushed the cover of the book lightly.

“Buck and I,” he said, his voice thick. “We used to read stuff like this all the time. Spacemen and rocket ships.”

“It was good of them to think of you,” she said gently.

“We should go over there soon.” They’d been twice before, and Bucky’s family had come to their wedding. She knew Steve found it difficult to see them. He’d lived, and Bucky hadn’t - part of him would always blame himself for what had happened, and there was no reassurance Peggy could give that would make him believe otherwise.

“We will,” she replied, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his temple. “We can go to the cemetery, too, if you like.” Bucky’s body had never been recovered, but there had been a service, and now there was a headstone bearing his name.

“Sure,” he agreed. He went quiet again, touching the cover of the book once more and taking two deep breaths. After exhaling the second time, he carefully placed the book atop his sweater and turned to her. The smile on his face was small, but she knew he was trying. “You want one of yours?”

She smiled back, nodding slightly. “I’d like that.”

He reached for one of the few remaining packages, handing a small box to her with an expression that she might have termed shy if she didn’t know better. Underneath the wrapping was a jewelry case containing a slim silver bangle - quite fashionable these days, though not something she’d have indulged in for herself, which of course made it a perfect gift.

“Oh, Steve, how pretty,” she murmured, lifting the bracelet out of the box.

“You like it?” he asked, sheepish as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Didn’t know if you would, but...well, hell, I went to the store, and the salesgirl said it was new and it looked like something you’d wear.”

That made her laugh, and she leaned across the small distance between them to kiss his cheek. “Yes, it’s precisely something I would wear, and you’ve got wonderful taste.” Not surprising, considering he had an artist’s eye - Steve never missed the details. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Good,” he said, looking relieved as he reached for another package. “This one, too.”

“You’re spoiling me,” she teased, taking the gift from him. This one was lumpier - there was no other word for it - the paper crinkled and forced into place. She raised an eyebrow as she opened it, cocking her head to the side, trying to figure out what precisely she was looking at. Straps and buckles and...

“It’s a chest holster!” he crowed.

It was, indeed. She could see it now - a double holster, in fact, with room for two guns, and decent-sized ones at that.

Steve continued grinning at her, sweetly enthusiastic. “You’re always complaining about the one they issued you not fitting right, so I...uh, I got this one made custom.”

Christ, Peggy loved him. She was struck dumb by how much she loved him. No one else in the world saw her the way he did. “Steve,” she said, thunderstruck. “Thank you, it’s perfect.”

“Thought you’d like it,” he replied, and there was no 'aw-shucks' about the holster like there’d been with the bracelet. He’d known she would love it, and she did. Was she that predictable? More importantly: was that so bad?

“I certainly do.” She turned the holster over in her hands, examining the craftsmanship. “Who custom made it?”

“Oh,” he said. “Uh, Howard knows someone.”

Of course it was Howard. She’d have to thank him later.

“I can’t wait to try it out,” she said, reaching over to squeeze his knee. “Would you like your presents now?”

He looked surprised, as though he’d forgotten there might be anything waiting under the tree for him. Silly boy. He nodded as Peggy retrieved one of the two remaining boxes, handing it to him.

Inside was a set of oil pastels that she’d been assured were top quality - a cacophony of color for Steve to use however he liked. “I thought,” she said delicately, once he’d opened it. “Now that we’re settled. You might like to branch out beyond the sketchbook.”

He’d spoken to her often of art school, how much he’d enjoyed the few classes he’d taken before the war, relishing the opportunity to refine his skills and hone his talent. The war had deprived him of that, even as he volunteered for a different path, same as it had caused Peggy to reimagine the life she’d once seen for herself. Difference was, she was happier on the other side and didn’t regret her choices, whereas there was a part of Steve that would always be an artist.

“Peg…” he said, looking up at her, a smile on his face. “These are swell. Thank you.”

“So long as you use me exclusively as your model for any figure drawing, Captain Rogers,” she said primly, a smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

Steve stammered something, and for all that they were quite adventurous in the boudoir, it was nice to know she could still make him blush. “You, uh…”

“Consider it another gift,” she said smoothly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Now,” she said, reaching for the final box. “This one’s a bit more practical, but…” She bit her lip, holding it out to him.

He opened the gift to find a very nice watch inside - one of her father’s, in fact. She’d requested it upon their engagement, and he’d brought it to the wedding, after which she’d had it restored and sized for Steve’s larger wrist. She’d never have been able to afford a watch of that quality on her salary, and she’d be eternally grateful to her father for both his fine taste in timepieces and his generosity.

“Shit,” Steve swore before he could help himself, eyes going wide.

“Indeed,” she said, pleased. “Turn it over.”

He did as he was told, reading the inscription she’d had done for him, his smile broadening at the words.

_From M.E.R. to S.G.R_  
_The right partner._  
_Dec. 1946_

“Hey…” he said, blinking a few times and clearing his throat. “That’s...thank you, honey. It’s real nice.”

There was more he couldn’t allow himself to say, she knew. Her darling, her Steve. So she smiled, reaching over and squeezing his knee. “I love you,” she said firmly.

“Love you,” he echoed, his warm hand closing over hers. “Merry Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Logistics-wise, this version of Steve gave Peggy his approximate coordinates before he went down, was recovered in a very timely fashion, and they married one another as soon as they were able to get the wedding together. 
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr for more Steggy shenanigans at [notlucy](https://notlucy.tumblr.com).


End file.
